Pandémonium Partagée
by kidsi5ter
Summary: One patient. Admitted to Longton's Psychiatric Hospital in Washington DC by her neighbors on April 13th, 3:11 am. "Lightning" Claire Farron's diagnosis: delusional.


**headcanon: no one remembers the crystal age/old world except light and the others.**

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White.

That was the one, single color she had familiarized herself with recently. She much preferred other colors— browns, blacks, blues, pinks— but white had seemed to only color that was safe enough for her to see. Other colors might trigger "accidents"; she did not need to remember how she was first permitted into this facility a few months ago. It was simply a kick to the face a few scratches, it was not a big deal— and a few bites here and there, but no one was _seriously _hurt. It was their fault in the first place for showing up at her house in the middle of the night, at first politely asking her to come with them to run a few tests before things got rough.

It was a strange case, at least that was what one of the nurses had mumbled under their breath as she answered a few questions to be recorded. She had heard of what she was being diagnosed with: delusional. She wanted to stand up and toss the chair she was sitting on towards one of the nurses, but instead settled for scoffing under her breath and grinding her teeth angrily.

During the questioning, they asked the most basic form of questions the doctors and psychiatrists could muster, but all it did was make her more upset at the situation and the doctors. They had moved her from her room— which was, surprisingly, _white_— to a rec room that patients shared after she had changed into her new, _white _scrubs. The only thing that differentiated her from the other patients was her unusual hair color, now. They sat her down at one of the tables, and the woman across from her opened up her manila folder with all of her information to glance at while they chatted:

**Name of Patient:** Claire Farron, refers to self as "Lightning"

**Gender:** Female

**Age:** 21

**Height:** 5'7

**Hair Color:** Rose, insists it is natural

**Eye Color:** Blue

**Nationality:** French

**Patient was admitted through neighbors noticing strange features appearing, such as drastic personality change, hair color change, and name change.**

She could see the woman raise an eyebrow towards something on her file, and she rolled her eyes. There was nothing on that piece of paper that Light had made up, including the bit about her hair. The only information that was false to her was her nationality— what on earth was _"French"?_ She was of Cocoon, but in this New World, countries were different. People were different. Races were different. The woman in front of her raised her eyes from the file to meet Light's eyes, and the questioning began.

"So, Claire, it says—"

_"Lightning."_

"Excuse me?"

"My name. It's Lightning."

"Okay...Lightning, then." She tucked some light auburn hair behind her ear, "it says here that your neighbors noticed something different about you."

She scoffed. "Don't feel any different."

"It notes that your hair color suddenly changed. Is there a reason for the new look?"

"It isn't 'new', it isn't a 'look'. It's my natural hair color."

"Lightning, being born with pink hair is not exactly possible." Her eyebrows knit together, her fingers entertwined with each other.

"Maybe not in this New World," the rosette leaned back in her chair, hands in her pockets.

"'New world'?"

She shook her head, refusing to speak of the events that caused the birth of this world. The woman tried a few more questions before she eventually gave up, and had Light escorted back to her room.

She refused to let herself remember the one responsible for her act of becoming savior, she refused to even remember _being _the savior. When the memories hit her, it was like a dam had broken in her mind. The emotions flowed through her all at once, hit her like a bag of bricks, brought her to her knees and enticed a painful cry from her shaking body. Her lungs ached, heart hammering in her chest, mind feeling like it was going to pop at any second with the amount of memories that attacked and assaulted her, when it stopped. The pain left, the aches ceased, and Lightning Farron found herself on the unfamiliar kitchen floor of a house that she had never been in before.

The neighbors were the first to notice her strange behavior. The way she seemed to be amazed by the sights around her, as if she had never seen a sky so blue or a cloud make a certain shape before. And then, when they attempted to talk to her, she would not even answer the door, nor even acknowledge their attempts of friendliness. Her hair had changed from a soft, strawberry blonde shade to a full on warm pink shade, which startled them, considering her personality. And when they finally got a hold of her at her doorstep, she all but slammed the door in their faces when they used the name "Claire".

That's when they finally called.

That's how Lightning Farron ended up a patient in the very white building of Longton's Psychiatric Hospital in Washington DC.

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